


Jatne Manda - Good life

by LittleLuna0304



Series: Gra'tua y Mirjahaal [2]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Clones deserve a soft pastoral ending and a boyfriend, Eventual Smut, Except Ashoka, Existential Crisis, Fair warning: this is not a flattering portrayal of Jedi, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, In the grand tradition of resurrecting dead clones, M/M, Post-Order 66, Socio-political allegories, and I'm here to deliver it, brief mention of death by overdose, canon typical discussion of slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25808893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLuna0304/pseuds/LittleLuna0304
Summary: CT-0292 AKA Vaughn was left for dead in the tunnels under Sundari after the Siege of Mandalore. Now stranded in what was enemy territory before the fall of the Republic he has to come to terms with the new world he has work up in and the people he considered enemies.
Relationships: CT-0292 | Vaughn/ OMC
Series: Gra'tua y Mirjahaal [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722673
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

It's funny, how the spark of life can be such a fickle thing. Bright one moment, dim the next. What seemed to be completely extinguished could in fact be holding an ember ready to relight. 

Vaughn couldn't blame Commander Tano for thinking he was dead. He probably was, at one point. When she had left him in the tunnels under Sundari, she had been preoccupied trying to prevent more of his brothers from dying by the hands of that lunatic, Maul. It wasn't her fault. 

When the Mandalorians had come to deal with the aftermath of the seige and found him, the honorable thing to do would have been to put him out of his misery. 

He didn't know what exactly made them decide to pull him to the surface and patch him up. Maybe it was morbid curiosity, maybe it was pity. 

Whatever it was, he hears them talking. _Mandokar_ they say under their breaths when they think he's asleep. 

He dies in the Republic and is resurrected in the Empire. The occupation of Mandalore drags on with no end in sight. They are told they are imperial citizens now. The Mandalorians grumble but they are too weak from the siege to mount a counter offensive against the empire. 

He gets stronger and he starts to learn more about what happened after Maul had been apprehended. They tell him the jedi are dead and he's….confused. The emperor is on the holos saying the clones were heroes who saved them from the tyranny of the council, who had planned a coup to assassinate and overthrow him. He supposes that made sense. Commander Tano had left the jedi for a reason, maybe she had known something. 

He had been in and out of consciousness when order 66 was executed, but something doesn't sit right with him. According to the accounts he hears, they had been ordered to kill on sight. 

Every person associated with the jedi was exterminated. There was no one left to confess to the coup, not even the younglings in the temple. Clone troopers were trained to follow orders but the idea that his brothers would murder children in cold blood seemed impossible. He just knew there had to be more to the story. 

The field hospital where he is taken isn't much but the cot is as good as any other and it turns out he likes Mandalorian food. It's as close to comfortable he's been in a long time. 

Which is why his guard is down when he rolls over and sees a mando in the armor of one of Maul's super commandos. He jolts up, alarmed.

"CT-0292, Captain 332nd Company, 501st legion, Galactic Army of the Republic." He blurts out the response they are trained to give if they are ever taken prisoner on instinct. 

The mando raises one hand and pulls off his helmet with the other. His expression is soft and effortlessly friendly, which is so at odds with the dark red armor that Vaughn has come to associate with the enemy. 

"Take it easy, friend. Haven't you heard we are at peace?" 

Vaughn blinks up at him, silent. He considers rattling off his rank again just to drive the point home that they are not friends. For all he knows, this could be the bastard who had ambushed him, since the helmet obscured his face. 

The Mandalorian tries again. "I just came by to see how you were. You were in bad shape when we found you. I'm Dimrik. Do you have something I can call you other than a number?"

Vaughn's curiosity wins over his skepticism. "You were there?" The mandalorian is encouraged by the response and nods enthusiastically which makes his dark hair fall into his eyes.

"Do you know if there were any others? Survivors? In the tunnels?”

The other man worried his bottom lip. "As far as I know, all the other wounded were aboard the star destroyer that went down. You were the only one left behind." 

Vaughn’s heart sank. His whole squadron; gone. He was the only member of the 501st who had survived. What did that mean? Who did he report to now? He didn’t know the protocol for this.

"I'm very sorry about your ship."

There's an ache under his ribs. The war was finally over and he's stranded in enemy territory. Everyone he ever cared about is dead. 

Somehow, in this moment, the worst part is that this man has the gall to pity him after everything. The red of his armor sparks something in him and the words slip out before he realizes what he’s saying.

"How could you fight for a monster like Maul?" He remembers the feral creature stalking out of the tunnels as he was slipping away. The look of fear and outrage and grief on Commander Tano's face. The memory leaves him shaking. 

The man quirked an eyebrow. He obviously wasn't prepared for that question "My parents raised me to follow the Resol'nare?. I serve the Manda'alor. The Mand'alor wields the darksaber. It was Maul, now it is Bo-Katan. This is the way” 

He said it so matter of factly, like it was a bygone conclusion. That his allegiance could flip so quickly over something so arbitrary just proved everything they had been told about death watch. At least he and his brothers had fought for something greater than themselves, for the Republic and all the people in it. He and his brothers understood loyalty in a way these Mandalorians just couldn't. 

“So” Dimrik stretched out against the wall he was leaning on, crossing his long legs at the ankles, thumbs hooked into his pockets. 

“What will you do now?” 

"I'll report back to….."

The Mandalorians tone is gentle but almost reprimanding, like he's speaking to a child that couldn't grasp a simple concept.

"I told you, we're at peace. The GAR has been dissolved." 

He didn't know how to answer. He never planned for any of this. He hadn't felt like he needed to. He had always assumed when the war was over the Jedi would tell them what came next.

The Mandalorian furrows his brow and leans forward to take his vambrance from the pile of armor that had been left next to the cot.

"Here." He types something into the data pad installed on the arm piece. It's all in _mando'a_ except the coordinates so he can't read it.

"My parents have a farm on Concordia. Most of their farm hands joined death watch and died in the siege. My _buir_ could use a worker and it doesn't sound like you have any better plans." 

He pushes off the wall and extends the vambrance towards him. Vaugh reaches for it, but he pulls back enough to keep it out of his reach. 

"So do you have a name or not?" He smiles and there's an earnestness in his face that takes Vaughn off guard. 

"Vaughn." 

His grin widens and he steps closer. When Vaughn leans forward to take the cuff back the super commando darts forward to plant a kiss on his cheek. 

"Give that to my _buir_ when you see her, Vaughn."

*************************************

Concordia was beautiful in it's own way. The landscape was made up of gray craggy mountains interspersed with spindly forests. As the transport ship hits the atmosphere, Vaughn can see gashes scoured across the surface of the moon.

"Beskar mines," The togruta next to him explains with a smile. He smiles back politely around the lump in his throat. Her markings look painfully similar to the paint job on his armor. 

He uses the last of his credits to buy a speeder bike and types the coordinates he was given into his datapad. If this doesn't work….well he'd just walk into the mountains and give the first predator he finds an easy meal. 

The farm is nestled in a valley that's hidden deep in the mountains away from any other settlements. It isn't much to look at-- it was obviously cobbled together with whatever materials were on hand.

He parks the speeder close to the house and walks to the door. He knocks and waits. And waits. 

This was a stupid idea. He sighs and makes his way around the building back towards his speeder. Maybe with the last of the fuel he could make it to one of the settlements and look for work in one of the mines. He freezes when he hears the familiar sound of a blaster powering up. 

"State your business." The blaster is being held by a middle aged Pantoran woman, with short lavendar hair. From this angle he can see a long scar that runs up her blue arm and disappears underneath the pauldron on her shoulder.

"Sorry ma'am. I was told there might be work here." 

She lowers the blaster and scowls at him. "Where did you hear that?" 

He pulls the vambrance out of his pack and offers it to her. 

"One of the death watch soldiers, Dimrik. He said his parents needed help." 

She rolls her eyes and pulls the vambrance out of his hand. 

"My son." She grumbles and scans the message. 

Vaughn is surprised this is the super commando's mother. First because they are different species. Secondly, he has no experience with what constitutes maternal but she is not what he imagined. He certainly isn't going to risk kissing her. She'd probably skin and eat him.

She glowers as she scans him up and down. 

"You know anything about farming?" 

He shakes his head nervously. 

"No ma'am. But I'm a fast learner." 

She considers for a moment and then holsters her blaster. 

"I'm Soga but you can address me as _Alor_. None of this ma'am nonsense." She turns on her heel and strides off towards the fields. Yellow grain stretches out in every direction. 

"Do you know what _bas neral_ is?" She asks. 

He shakes his head as he marches behind her. She could give some of his drill sergeants a run for their money. 

"It grows wild here. Civilized planets won't touch it so we sell most for live stock feed. The rest we put aside for the tribe." 

His brow creases, "I thought you said it wasn't edible."

She scoffs "Concordia isn't civilized. Since we've been in exile here we've learned to make due with what we can find. Enough lard and spices, almost anything can be made edible." 

They stop in front of a small shed at the back of the property. She throws her shoulder into the wooden door and it gives way with a creak. 

He's surprised to see it's furnished. There's a dresser and a rickity desk. The furthest corner has a small bed that looks like it was cobbled together from old repurposed fencing posts covered in a faded quilt. A real bed. Not a company issued cot with a blanket thin enough to fold into his pack. 

"The pay isn't much and the work's hard, but you'll be fed and there's a roof over your head." She eyes the ceiling suspiciously. "Such as it is. If Dimrik vouches for you, you're welcome here. We can go get your stuff off the speeder." 

He shifts the pack off his back "This is all I have ma…. _Alor_." Her eyes flick from the bag to his face and her eyes go soft for a minute. 

"Alright. You settle and I'll bring you something to eat. Don't get used to it, you'll eat at the big house just like everyone else" He nods and she leaves him. 

It's very very quiet here. Not like the barracks where they were stacked on top of each other and someone was always talking or snoring or moving in and out. He knows he should do as Soga said and empty his pack. 

There isn't much, just his armor, a med pack, his blasters. The things he'd had on him. Everything else, and it hadn't been much, had been left on the ship.

He passes a hand over the quilt. It's soft and worn from use. Despite the fact that it's faded, the pattern is distinctly Mandalorian and was obviously once bright and beautiful. If he lays down for a moment, he can get up and unpack his things by the time Soga comes back.

He just really wants to know what a real bed feels like. 

When he startles awake from a dream it's dark out outside the window. He scrubs at his face. 

He'd been in the barracks of the destroyer, in the dream. The others, Sterling and Jesse and another handful had been sitting around, cleaning their kits, talking and laughing. When he went to talk to them they hadn't responded. He tried to say something, to warn them but they had kept on like he wasn't there. Like he was a ghost. 

A lamp that hadn't been there before was lit on the desk next to a bowl of food and a pile of neatly folded linen clothes. He has no idea what the food was but it's still good even if it's gone cold. He inhales it, suddenly realizing he hadn't eaten anything since before he had departed from Mandalore. Next, fresh clothes. He pulls the light blue tunic over his head and it smells like hay and earth. The fit is a little off but they are soft and flexible. He regards his blacks and then carefully folders them and stashes them under the bed with his armor. 

Just in case. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaughn settles in his new life with the Mandalorians.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch me using my using my obscure knowledge of meso-american horticulture practices for fic shit.

The work is exhausting at first, but he likes it. When the day is over, Vaughn knows he's accomplished something, even if it's just keeping the farm's small herd of eopie alive. They are ugly creatures; pink and gangly with trumpet noses and tusks on the males. According to Soga, the first breeding pair she and Dimrik's father had bought had been worth a small fortune but they were worth it because they could pull a plow. 

Despite her prickly demeanor, Soga is surprisingly patient with him. She never treats him like he's an idiot for not understanding things that are apparently common knowledge. Like the fact that he can just...wander. The first week he just lingered around, waiting to be told what to do until Soga explained that once his work was done his time was his own. The tribe’s territory covers the entire valley and up into the mountains. Beyond the western ridge is the beginning of clan Vizsla's territory. The Viszlas, she warns, were not friends of the Republic and as a clone, he could be an easy target for their vitriol if they caught him on their land. No matter, he should carry his blaster if he doesn't have the farmhouse in sight. Otherwise, he could go where he pleased and do what he wanted. What that was, exactly, he didn't know. 

It begins to dawn on him that he knows almost nothing about the galaxy except what would make him the most effective soldier. Which made sense. The Republic had been focused on winning the war; they couldn't exactly spend resources educating clones who might just die. He's sure that if things had gone differently, the Jedi must have had some plan for what would have come after.

As time passes,other Mandalorians come down from around the valley. They trade things back and forth; eggs, vegetables, tools. Soga introduces them all as  _ vod  _ or  _ ba'buir  _ or  _ ba'vodu _ . It's strange because some of them are different species and most don't look like they are related. When he finally gets up the nerve to ask Soga about it, she scoffs and rattles off something in  _ Mando'a. _

" _ Aliit ori'shya tal'din _ ."

The tribe, she explains, isn't connected by blood. It is held together by respect for the Creed and mutual love for one another. This was the way.

He still doesn’t completely understand, but maybe he doesn’t need to. He's just hired help, after all.

Dimrik comes home every few months to bring supplies and news from Mandalore. Vaughn learns he serves in the palace as an advisor to the  _ Manda'alor _ . He doesn't understand why Bo-Katan trusts someone who fought with her enemy, but he supposes they had both been members of Death Watch under Pre Vizsla. 

Most nights after supper, Dimrik invites him to go walking out in the fields or forging in the forest. He likes to talk and Vaughn likes to listen to him talk. One evening he finally let's his curiosity get the better of him. 

"Why was your family exiled here in the first place?" He asks while they stroll along the edge of the creek that runs through the east side of the valley. They are looking for a certain kind of white rock that can be pounded into dust and then soaked with the  _ bas neral _ grain until it softened the grain to the point where it becomes edible. Dimrik pockets the stones as they go and tosses the rejects into the bubbling water. 

"Why do you think we came here?" The question isn't hostile. In fact, his tone is lazy and relaxed as he throws a stone out over the water. 

Vaughn doesn't know much about the Concordian Mandos beyond what had been in the briefings they were given before the siege and even that had been enough to make his eyes cross. Mandalorian politics were a bizarre and contentious web. The Death Watch, according to the Jedi, were a remnant of Mandalore's past. Clan-ish barbarians who refused to evolve past their superstitions. Zealots. Terrorist. 

"When clan Kyrze took power after the civil wars, they expelled all the warriors who refused to become pacifist. They were sent here to Concordia and formed Death Watch."

Dimrik nodded. "Do you know what the Resol'nare is?"

Vaguely. It hadn't been covered in the briefing. The others on the farm talked about it sometimes. He shakes his head. 

"For thousands of years, Mandalorians have followed the _Resol'nare_. You probably know it as the Creed or referred to as 'The Way'.  _ Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, Ara'nov, aliit, Mando'a bal Mand'alor. An vencuyan mh."  _ He rattles off in a sing-song tone. "Education and armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language and our leader. The Creed is what makes us Mandalorians." 

He turns back to give Vaughn a rueful look. "When you were on Mandalore, how many people did you hear speaking  _ Mando'a _ ?" 

Vaughn thinks about it. If someone was talking to him, of course they would speak basic. But looking back, he hadn't heard anyone speaking Mando'a ON Mandalore,unlike on Concordia where, unless they are speaking directly to him, they are all speaking their native language. 

"No one."

Dimrik whips another stone across the water. "And when they told you about us, did they tell you that Mandalorians once kidnapped the children of other species and brainwashed them?" 

Vaugh nods. After the briefing some of the others had joked like it was a story meant to frighten children. 

"When you were on Mandalore, how many species of Mandalorians did you see?" 

There had only been humans. Apprehension makes his gut twist. Dimrik turns and Vaughn can see that he's searching his face to see if Vaughn truly grasps the implications of what he's saying.

"Our families mean everything to us, Vaughn. Our whole society has been built on tribes adopting war orphans. Imagine how we felt when we were told that all the non-humans would be repatriated to their home worlds. Forcibly, if necessary.  _ For their own good _ . You can understand why so many of us choose to go into exile here on this inhospitable hunk of beskar." He sighs and puts his back to a tree. 

"Why? Why go through all the trouble?" It seemed unnecessarily cruel to separate families, which is so at odds with the image he has of the former duchess. 

"The former Lady Kryze wasn't raised on Mandalore. She felt that our adherence to the Creed was holding us back; keeping us from being accepted by the core planets. So she did everything in her power to wipe away all of the things that made us Mandalorians. Including anyone who was a reminder of our past. My mother hasn't stepped foot on her home planet in decades." 

He doesn't know how to respond. The Jedi and Republic must not have known the extent of Duchess Satine's "reforms". If they had, they surely would have done something. 

He doesn't say this though. He's too busy watching Dimrik gaze up at the horizon. 

The sunset here isn't like Coruscant with it's unending light population or Kamino where the sky is constantly covered in roiling storms. The skies of Concordia seem to stretch out into eternity even withMandalore rising just over the skyline.

The way Dimrik looks towards his homeworld, Vaughn can understand the decisions he'd made. The decisions that had put them on opposite ends of a battlefield. 

Whether he was wrong or right, everything he did was grounded in his convictions. Vaughn considers what exactly had brought him to Mandalore.

Whatever the motivations had been, they weren't his own. He never had to consider why he was fighting. He didn't need to. The Senate, the Jedi they had known what was best for the Republic. It was his duty to do as he was told. 

But now…

He wants to know what it is like to choose something for himself. 

It's terrifying. 

It's enticing

It's standing in front of him, starlight casting shadows over his cheeks. 

Vaughn steps into the space in front of Dimrik and meets his eyes. He goes still, rolling his lips between his teeth. Vaughn slowly closes the space between them and slides a hand up his neck until his thumb brushes the stubble along his jaw. Dimrik tilts his chin, the side of his mouth quirked in a challenge. 

"What are you waiting for?"

Vaughn leans in to press a kiss against the Mandalorian's waiting lips. Dimrik brings his arm around his waist and under his shirt to press his fingers into the small of his back. Vaughn yields to the pressure and pushes in closer, pinning Dimrik harder to the tree. Dimrik responds by nipping at his lip, which teases a sound from Vaughn that he didn't know he was capable of making. He brings his hand to the waist of Dimrik's trousers and presses his palm into his hip until he is forced to shift against him. The friction is intoxicating and the feeling of Dimrik's warm skin is a tantalizing contrast to the coolness of the evening. He wants more but when he dips his hand down further Dimrik catches his wrist. 

" _ Parer _ ! Wait." He's breathless but his voice is firm and Vaughn freezes. He pulls back, eyes searching, trying to figure out what he had done wrong. Dimrik smiles at him and removes his grip from his wrist to place his hand against his cheek. "We have time,  _ Cyar'ika. _ " 

Vaughn nods and pulls his hands away. Dimrik chuckles softly and says something in  _ Mando'a _ under his breath. He moves a hand around the back of Vaughn's neck and brings his forehead to rest against his. Vaughn nods, pressing into him. They have time.

Dimrik pulls away after a moment. "We should head back. We don't want to get caught this far out after dark." 

***********

Once the planting is done, Dimrik has to return to Mandalore and won't be back until harvest time.

They say their goodbyes out in front of the farm house. Dimrik is in his armor, helmet tucked under his arm. Soga helps him fix his jetpack to his back plate and turns him around by the shoulder. She brushes the hair out of his face and he bends to press their foreheads together. It dawns on Vaughn that this gesture has some significance to them that he doesn't fully grasp. He only knows that it's important. 

" _ Arasuumir morut'yc, ad'ika _ ." 

He flashes her an impish grin "You worry too much,  _ Buir _ ."

He looks over to Vaughn, still smiling, and his chest feels tight.

"I have something for you." He extends a data pad sheepishly. "I hope you don't mind that I pulled the tech out of your armor. I thought you could use it. Message me?" 

Vaughns nods, speechless. Dimrik leans forward to bring their heads together. Soga is watching and he can see the crease in her brow from where he's standing but she remains quiet. 

Dimrik steps back to a safe distance, grinning ear to ear and gives them a wave. 

" _ Ret _ !" 

He takes off and Soga cups her hands around her mouth to shout up to him,"Put on your  _ buy'ce, di'kut _ !" She whips around to look at Vaughn, who is still staring up after him. 

"Don't you have chores?" 

He almost snaps to attention on instinct at her tone. He wonders if he'll ever move past that ingrained response. "Yes ma... _ alor _ ." 

He rushes away, stowing the data pad in his shirt pocket for later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:   
> Vod - sibling  
> Ba'buir - grandparent  
> Ba'vodu - aunt/uncle  
> Aliit ori'shya tal'din - family is more than blood   
> Mand'alor - traditional leader of the mandalorian people   
> Bas neral -coarse grain used for animal fodder and brewing; thought unfit to eat  
>  Resol'nare - the six tenants of mandalorian life, aka the Creed or the way  
> Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, Ara'nov, aliit, Mando'a bal Mand'alor. An vencuyan mh. - Education and armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language and our leader. All help us survive. Mandalorian children are taught this ryhme to help them learn the creed   
> Parer - wait   
> Cyar'ika - darling, sweetheart   
> Arasuumir morut'yc, ad'ika - stay safe, little one  
> Buir - parent  
> Ret - bye!   
> Buy'ce - helmet   
> Di'kut - idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)   
> Alor - chief


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaughn accompanies Soga to Mandalore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *for those of you how didn't watch the Rise of Skywalker, spice is Star Wars for drugs*
> 
> Art by the beautiful and iconic Sred, who also helped with the Mando'a in this chapter.  
> eternal gratitude to Spacefoxen for betaing and putting up with my 1am messages.

The weather is just beginning to turn cold when Soga gets called to Sundari. Bo-katan orders all of the clans to send their alors to pledge their loyalty to the office of Manda'alor and to start rebuilding the government that had been left in shambles between Satine and Maul.

Soga insists she won't stay long -- three days, a week at most. Dimrik represents the clan's political interests on Mandalore, she does the real work of keeping the tribe running. This gathering is a necessary bit of political theater to solidify Bo-katan's role and show the people that the tribes were united around the new Mand'alor.

If it also demonstrates to the Empire that the Mandalorians will continue the business of ruling themselves even under imperial occupation, all the better.

Vaughn is ready to look after the farm while Soga is gone until he receives a message the day before she is meant to leave.

Rotation 103, Concordia:

Dimrik: come to Mandalore.

Vaughn: I can't.

Dimrik: _buir_ can find someone to look after things for a few days. Please Vaughn.

At dinner, Soga asks if he is packed to leave in the morning, so he doesn't see the point in arguing. It will be nice to see Dimrik, even if he isn't thrilled at the prospect of returning planet-side.

The morning of their departure, he rushes through what chores he can get done and pulls himself onto the gate of the Eopie's paddock to wait for Soga. One of the creatures ambles over to sniff at his pockets.

"You've already been fed." It grumbles at him and leans it's chin onto his thigh. He scratches behind its ear absentmindedly.

Soga exits the farmhouse, slinging a pack across her pauldron. Vaughn has never seen her in a full kit before. She cuts an intimidating figure as she stalks across the compound, gravel crunching under her boots. Her armor is gun metal gray, with burgundy slashes across the chest and shoulders. The fanged cat that represents their clan is centered around her visor.

She doesn't slow or make a comment as she passes him, she simply expects him to follow. Which is strange because she's heading in the opposite direction of where the speeders are parked and instead walking towards the mountains.

He bolts off the fence and lopes after her.

They hike for about half an hour into the forest and up into the mountains. Vaughn grows increasingly confused until they reach an outcropping which sits outside the mouth of a cave that faces out into the valley. Wait, not a cave -- a beskar mine. He can see where the opening is braced with rough cut wood.

Soga flips on the light from her helmet and enters the mine. Parked not far from the entrance is a _Kom'rk_ class fighter. Vaughn stops to run a hand across its hull. It's a beautiful ship, sleek and graceful. From the design it's obvious it was created by a people whose culture was built around making warfare an art.

Soga opens the hatch and the lights spring on, illuminating the walls of the mine. The chasm stretches back deep into the mountain. Vaughn cranes his neck to get a better look around. There are scorch marks along the ceiling. At knee height, faded scribbles and smears of charcoal line the rocks. Soga catches his curious gaze.

"This is where we sheltered, when we first came here."

She throws her pack into the belly of the ship and turns to where he's standing on the ramp. She pauses for a moment, staring into the blackness. It's obvious this place is, for better or worse, significant to her. She reaches up to squeeze his shoulder.

"Come on, Mandalore is waiting for us."

****************

It's late afternoon local time when they break the atmosphere. Once they've landed, the airlock disengages and the smell of the domed city's filtered air floods the cabin. Vaughn's jaw pops, he hadn't realized he was grinding his teeth.

Dimrik is easy to spot even in the pandemonium of all the ships disembarking, with the distinctive orange stripe and claw marks on his helmet. Vaughn expects him to pull it off and flash a crooked smile but instead he inclines his head to Soga and addresses her as " _Alor"_.

Right, he is here in his official capacity and Soga is there as the leader of clan Eldar

And Vaughn….is here.

They make their way to the palace on foot. Evidence of the battle is still obvious, with piles of collected rubble here and there, and construction sites set up around burnt out buildings. Vaughn catches a glimpse of familiar white out of the corner of his eye. When he turns his head, he can see that it isn't a clone trooper. There are subtle differences in the armor and even in the way they hold themselves.

One of the patrolling storm troopers tips his head in a friendly greeting to them as they walk by. Soga and Dimrik march forward, never breaking their stride, visors conspicuously facing ahead. Vaughn feels a stab of pity for the soldier. It wasn't that long ago that he was an unwelcome stranger in this place, too.

As they make their way up the steps of the palace, Dimrik and Soga trade a few sentences in Mando'a. Vaughn catches a word or two but he's more interested in taking in the sights. He had never been to the palace during the battle. It is beautiful, with geometric lines and gleaming metals and glass. Even so, it is surprisingly cold and colorless. Everything is recognizably Mandalorian but washed out. Somehow….soulless.

Vaughn is derailed from his train of thought by the feeling of Dimrik's hand suddenly closing around his wrist and getting yanked into a forgotten alcove of the hallway. He chuckles at the enthusiasm until he turns back and Dimrik's helmet collides forcefully with his bare forehead.

" _Su cuy'gar_." Vaughn recognizes the word. He knows it means hello, but the tone of Dimrik’s voice is heavy with relief.

"Hey?"

Dimrik yanks up his helmet by the chin and pushes it back. Dark eyes flick across Vaughn's face, searching for something. His thumb brushes a loose curl away from his forehead and relaxes when he sees the scar running across Vaughn's temple.

"Do you know a CT-8736?"

This isn't what he was expecting.

"No. Not all clones know each other, Dimrik." He rolls his eyes. Even if the GAR wasn't the largest fighting force the galaxy had ever known, there wasn't much opportunity to socialize outside of your own battalion. "Why?"

Dimrik shifts back. "There was a cargo ship that came into port that had a crew member die enroute. He was a clone."

Oh.

"What happened?"

"Spice."

_Oh._

"I didn't know what to do, so I told them to bury him next to the others.”

“What others?” Vaughn feels like he's running to catch up with this conversation.

“The clones who died in the siege," Dimrik says offhandedly before rushing on "So you didn't know him?"

"What was his name? I wouldn't have known him by his designation."

Dimrik shakes his head. "That's why I asked. I went through his belongings, but nothing had his name on it. He didn't even have a chain code."

"What about the crew? The captain?"

Dimrik frowned, "According to the captain, all he gave them was his serial number. He hadn't been aboard that long and it….I got the feeling it wasn't the most reputable operation. They obviously weren't happy to have me around asking questions."

Vaughn chews on the inside of his cheek for a minute, thinking.

"Can you show me? Where…" Dimrik nods and squeezes the forearm he has crossed against his chest.

"After. They've probably already noticed I'm…" he trails off at the sound of boots on tile. Bo-Katan rounds the corner with her second in command on her heels. Vaughn recognizes her armor from when she was sauntering around the _Venator_ with Commander Tano. She spots them and comes to a sudden halt. Her helmet tilts drastically to the side which gives her the appearance of a curious bird of prey.

_“K’olar,verd. Gar haav'burcya liser parer gotal'ur gar kaysh dalab_

There’s a choking sound from her second in command as they sweep past them into the throne room, Bo-Katan landing a swat on Dimrik's pauldron as she goes.

"What did she say?" Vaughn asks, watching Bo-Katan leave before turning back to Dimrik.

He snorts and slides his helmet back into place. "Nothing, she's just giving me a hard time. As usual. Come on."

\--

Dimrik leaves Vaughn near the back of the room. He spots Soga standing at attention near the front as Dikrik slides in to flank her. Vaugh looks around the room. The variety of design and structure to the armor is amazing in comparison to what he had seen in the past during the siege.

Soga barks something in _Mando'a_ and a hush comes over the room. Bo-katan regards her silently for a moment before addressing the crowd in basic.

"The _alor_ of Clan Eldar is right. We don't have the luxury to hold grudges when there are so few of us left."

 _And the empire is at our door_.

The sentiment goes unspoken but it hangs over them like a storm cloud. Vaughn is sure it isn't lost on many of them that she is the one who had held the door open for them, least of all Bo-Katan.

It is impossible to tell but he feels certain there are eyes on him. How many know what he is? How many blame him for the storm troopers patrolling the streets? Even if he can tell the difference from the clone troopers of the Republic and the storm troopers of the Empire, can anyone else? Does the distinction even matter to them?

Bo-Katan's voice cuts through his thinking sharply. "When we formed Death Watch, Pre Vizsla's intention was to resurrect our way of life. Now that my sister is gone, I intend to honor his legacy by fulfilling the purpose."

There is a weight to her voice and he notices that her visor is tilted ever so slightly towards the corner of the room opposite of him. There's a cluster of Death Watch blue and shriek hawk sigils. Vizslas. Vaughn remembers Soga's warning about them. They shift and bristle but stay silent.

"Whatever divisions exist between us, we are still _Mando'ade._ And I _am_ your _Mand'alor._ Unless anyone here wants to challenge my claim." She extends her arm, hand clenched around the silver hilt of a lightsaber.

The air is heavy with anticipation as all the clans wait to see if one of the others would step forward.

"I didn't think so." She pulls back her hand and clips the saber into its place on her belt. "We have work to do."

The crowd begins to disperse and Dimrik and Soga exchange a few words before Dimrik comes to pull Vaughn towards his quarters, which he gleefully points out are located by the kitchen.

His space is relatively spartan, not unlike Vaughn's shed. There's a bed and a nightstand and the footlocker that he lives out of. A cot has been set up in the opposite corner of the room.

"I hope you don't mind bunking with me. With all the delegates from the tribes coming in we got short on room. But I'll take the cot."

Dimrik moves towards the footlocker at the end of his bed and digs though it's contents.

"It's fine, I'm used to barracks. To be honest, it's taken some getting used to, sleeping without ten other guys snoring."

Dimrik laughs. "Yeah, when I was with Death Watch, we would all be crammed into tents and just have to stack on top of each other. Not that I minded. It kept things warm, you know?"

Vaughn moves further into the bedroom and finally settles on the edge of the bed. On the side table, there's a small holo.

He recognizes Soga, even though the design of her armor was different and her face was fuller. The fact that she ever had baby fat is bizarre. Her arms were wrapped around the shoulder of another girl and they are caught in the middle of laughing at whoever was behind the camera. Sundari is lit up behind them, bright and beautiful, with the night sky fully visible. This must have been taken before the first civil war.

There is something incredibly familiar about the other woman. It's not just her dark hair or olive skin; she has the same broad, earnest grin he loves.

"Who is that?" He nods toward the holo.

Dimrik barely looks up from tossing another wrinkled set of underarmor onto the bed. "My _buir_."

"No, I know Soga., The other one."

"My _buir_ ," he repeats. Vaughn scowls at him. Dimrik pauses and looks up at the ceiling. He runs his tongue across his teeth as he tries to translate the _mando'a_ that's running through his head into basic.

If Vaughn is honest, it's extremely hard to stay annoyed when he makes that face.

When Dimrik finally puzzles it out he talks slowly, trying to make sure he's getting his point across. "That's Ca'tra. She is the one who carried me. Kote was...my father. Soga was the one who raised me."

 _See_ , _it's simple_ , his tone seems to suggest as he turns back to what he was looking for. The way he explains it, it is an obvious fact of life. Vaugh had his suspicions that Dimrik's childhood had been very different from his own. He had probably gone without often, whereas Vaughn's every need had been met so he would grow into the most capable soldier possible. Still, he wonders what it must have been like to have so many parents. Or any at all.

" _Hah!_ Found it." He pulls a strip of black fabric out of the trunk.

"The air outside the city is breathable, but after a while the pollution will start to irritate your airways. Better to wear something like this to block it since you don't have a _buy'ce_ with an air filter."

He pulls himself up by the bed frame and comes to sit next to Vaughn on the bed. He lifts the fabric with a questioning look.

Vaughn nods and Dimrik leans in to secure the knot. His finger grazes the nape of his neck and electricity runs down his spine.

Dimrik pulls back. "Are you ready?"

*********

When they first step into the wasteland outside of Sundari, the sun reflecting off the white sand blinds him. When his eyes adjust to the brightness, he can't see anything except wasteland and smoggy clouds.

"Right here?" The upturned sand has already settled after only a few days.

Dimrik nods solemnly.

Vaughn walks forward and crouches down. He places a hand on the coarse soil. All the clones who died on Mandalore are under their feet. Including the brothers he had ordered into the undercity. How could he have been that stupid? He had led them straight into an ambush.

For what?

Why had they come to this place?

Mandalore wasn't part of the Republic; they had made that abundantly clear. It seemed to be the one thing they all could agree on. He had been created to serve the people of the Republic. So why had he come to fight and die here?

He trusted that the Jedi had a good reason but he just can't understand. Had the cost of life been worth it to catch one rogue force user?

"Why did you fight with Maul?" Dimrik looks over to him and he raises his hand to stop him from interrupting. "I know the creed tells you to be loyal to the Manda'alor, but you can usurp a Manda'alor, just like Maul did to Vizsla. So why?"

Dimrik rolls his neck, thinking. "You have to understand, Vaughn. I don't just serve the Manda'alor. I serve my people. I was fighting against Republic occupation. The Senate had been trying for years to get a foothold here and Bo-Katan opened the door for them. I still believe Maul might have been the lesser of two evils."

Vaughn stares hard at the ground in front of him. His voice is low and shaky when he asks, "If you all hate the Republic so much, why did you bother to bury them?"

The Kaminoans would say sentimentality for the dead was a waste of energy. A distraction from their responsibilities. Clones who perished were simply fulfilling their function and whatever remained of them was inconsequential to the war effort. How many of them were littered across the galaxy's battlefields, discarded? Why had the Mandalorians made the effort to lay them to rest? Why had Dimrik gone through the effort of looking for the name of a clone he had never known?

"Even our enemies deserve basic dignity. That's why I asked you to come. Nobody deserves to die nameless and unremembered."

His boots sink ever so slightly into the shifting sand. He had been so very close to being buried here alongside the rest of them. His stomach churns and he has to rip at the cloth over his face before his stomach empties violently.

His eyes sting. He had never realized just how much space his brothers had taken up around him until they were suddenly all gone. And he was left behind.

He feels Dimrik kneel next to him and the comforting pressure of his palm between his shoulder blades. He had removed his helmet and their eyes meet.

How many of his brothers had Dimrik personally put here? But then, how many Mandalorian deaths had he been responsible for? Some of them were probably people Dimrik had cared for.

All this destruction, and what had it all amounted to, in the end?

\--

Their walk back to the palace is quiet. Even though it's only midafternoon on Concordia, Sundari is dark and Vaughn is exhausted. He feels raw, inside and out.

Back in the room, Dimrik points out the door to the fresher that's attached to his quarters. Vaughn goes to rinse the acidic taste from his mouth and splashes some water over his face.

He does his best to avoid meeting his own gaze in the mirror above the sink but it's inescapable. Staring back at him is every brother he served with and countless others he would never know.

Like the one who had died on the cargo ship. They probably weren't all that different. From what Dimrik had told him, it seemed that the nameless clone had been lost and left to find his own way in a galaxy that didn't care about him. That was ready and willing to exploit him. What separated them, that he died surrounded by cruel strangers and Vaughn got to live?

He turns away and flees back to the bedroom. Dimrik has stripped his armor off and neatly stacked it in a rack next to the door with the helmet on top. He's tugging a sleep shirt over his head when Vaughn reenters the room. There's a flash of warm skin and the muscles that run across his back before the hem settles into place.

He pulls his eyes away and goes to the bed to look for his own sleep clothes from his pack. Dimrik comes to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Thank you."

Dimrik shrugs. "Don't thank me yet, it's not as comfortable as it looks." He says, patting the mattress.

"That's not what I meant." Vaughn pulls his shirt over his head and folds it meticulously before pulling on a new one. Dimrik takes his hand and pulls him into the bed.

"I know."

Vaughn leans his head back against the wall and huffs through his nose. The room is dark with only the lamp on. Dimrik is flicking his fingers back and forth in the way he does. He's incapable of ever being truly still without fidgeting. It makes the shadows jump and dance. Vaughn holds his hands up to the light and it casts the shape of a loth-wolf onto the wall.

"We used to do that, when we lived in the mines." Dimrik crosses his wrists and splayed his finger, grinning. "Shriek-hawk. Where did you learn that?"

"My older brother, Echo. He must have learned it from one of the older boys."

Echo had always whinged about regulations stating that clones weren't allowed to fraternize after lights out but he could never tell his little brother no. Especially when he was hit with a painful growth spurt that left him achy and uncomfortable and in need of comfort. Then Echo would give him a hand to crawl up into his bunk and put an arm around him and tell him stories about the creatures he had read about in the survival guides.

He smiles at the memory until he remembers; Echo might still be alive.

He has no idea how he would go about trying to find him but maybe….

Dimrik sees his face fall and moves so he's in front of him, their knees touching.

"You know, Mandalorians have a ritual we do every day where we perform a remembrance for our dead. I usually do it before bed."

He looks almost shy as he meets his eyes. "Would you like to do it with me?"

Vaughn nods. The Mando'a rolls off Dimrik's tongue like water. Vaughn never noticed before, but around these other Mandalorians he realizes Dimrik has an accent that is distinctly Concordian.

" _Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_.".

"Nee see-cu"

Dimrik pulls a face that is partially amused and partially horrified at the butchering of his mother tongue .

"Nee soo-coo-yee." He repeats sounding out each syllable. Vaughn crosses his arms over his chest.

"Why don't you just translate so I can say it in basic?"

"Absolutely not. It loses its meaning if you take it out of Mando'a."

"Fine, at least explain what I'm saying so I don't feel like an idiot."

Dimrik sighs and makes the same face from earlier as he translates in his head.

" _I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal_." He throws his hands up, exasperated. "I told you it loses something in translation."

Vaughn tries again, slowly. " _Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc,"_

Dimrik gives him an encouraging nod. " _Ni partayli, gar darasuum,"_ he finishes for him.

" _Ni partayli, gar darasuum."_ His tongue feels leaden and clumsy as he trips over the syllables. "So what am I missing? What does that mean?"

"It means a lot of things. That's why it's hard to translate. Basic doesn't have the nuisance to get the point across. It means our lost are in the _Manda_ , the collective soul of all the _mando'ade_ , with every one who has come before us."

"Like what the Jedi call the force?" Dimrik's lips twist ever so slightly and Vaughn decides to drop it.

"A lot of our words have double meanings. _Su'cuyi_ is alive but it's also part of the word for hello because we say 'you're still alive.' So when we say, 'I'm alive,' it's also like we are greeting the _manda_. Our word for eternal is the same as our word for love, just a different inflection. Remembering our dead is an act of love. For us, a name is a part of our soul. When you speak it, it binds you together and to the greater _Manda_. You can never be truly lost, if someone has a piece of your soul."

"Who do you…"

"My _buire_. My best friend growing up; she died from a fever when we were twelve. Some of my comrades from Kyr'tsad . What about you?"

Who would he want to keep with him? Who else would remember them?

"There are too many," he whispers. "I can't remember them all."

Dimrik's eyes widen slightly in realization, horrified. He lets out a measured breath. "Maybe just start with a few."

They recite the names slowly, with reverence, trading back and forth.

His batchmates. His first squadron, who he had gone through training with.

Fives and Tup, who went back to Kamino because they were sick and never came back. Nobody had bothered to tell them what had happened. He'd probably never know for sure, but his heart tells him they are both gone now.

The entire 332nd Division.

General Skywalker.

Commander Tano and Captain Rex.

He sees Dimrik's eyebrow raise when he lists the Jedi but he doesn't comment. His mind wanders back to the nameless clone. CT-8736. He couldn't wrap his head around why this brother would give his serial number instead of his name. Most clones despised being referred to by their designations. He knows he did.

Plenty of clones picked their own names. Most had their names picked for them. Vaughn's brothers had picked for him.

Vaughn: little, the runt of his batch. He'd always hated it, until he didn't. He'd learned the hard way that any name was better than being addressed by a number. He hoped if Dimrik or the Jedi were right and his brother still existed somewhere that he didn't mind being given a new name.

One that fit the cruel irony of his life.

 _Ni partayli, gar darasuum_ , Lucky.

***********

Vaughn's stomach wakes him up with a discontented rumble , reminding him he hasn't eaten since….. Well, with the time jumps between Concordia and Mandalore it has been a while. Dimrik's enthusiasm about being close to the kitchen pushes him out of bed. He considers his boots for a minute and decides he doesn't need them. It's the middle of the night and the kitchen is right down the hall. He will just dart in and grab something and then bring it back.

Dimrik turns on his cot and draws his blanket further onto his shoulder but otherwise doesn't wake when he passes by on his way out.

The kitchen is expansive and has the same cold steel design as the rest of the palace along with a neatly ordered display of knives and pans hung on the wall for easy retrieval. He runs a hand along the edge of the metal island that runs the length of the room. He briefly wonders if the Mandalorians use beskar for their kitchen wares or if it's just for armor. He'll ask Dimrik about it later. He spots the door to a truly cavernous pantry hanging open but nixes that idea and makes a beeline for the preserver. Just like everything else, it's huge. He shuffles some bottles and containers around until he finds a covered dish.

 _Perfect_.

He'd developed a taste for _tiingilar_ when he had been at the field hospital. The nurses had been reluctant to give him the same food as the Mandalorian patients because they didn't think an outsider could stomach it but eventually someone in the kitchen had slipped. Since it was the most enthusiastic response they had seen from him since pulling him from the bacta tank, it became a challenge to bring him new food and see what he would like best. Which he was more than happy to oblige because this was the first time his diet wasn't primarily rations. His favorite by far was the casserole.

He would frequently beg and charm and bargain to convince Soga to make it when they had the right ingredients.

The key to good _tiingilar,_ Soga had explained, was very stale _haashun_ bread. Back in the olden days, Mandalorians would carry the thin, dried out bread in their rations during long campaigns. When they came home anything that hadn't been eaten would be thrown into a dish with a rich sauce and the best cuts of meat and that would be served as the homecoming meal. The more parched the bread, the better it would soak up the sauce.

Vaughn cracks the lid on the dish and sniffs it. The heat of it makes his eyes water. He looks around and realizes he has no idea where they would store the utensils. But there is only a small portion left. He scoops a bit out with his fingers and shovels it in his mouth. It is delicious, though not as spicy as Soga's. But he is starving and doesn't care.

There's the distinctive sound of boots on tile coming into the kitchen. Three voices echo off the walls, all talking surprisingly loud considering the time. Vaughn steals a glance. There are two astoundingly large Mandalorians, a man and woman, following another woman that is closer to his height. Her blond hair is pulled back in lined braids which make the sneer on her face all the more pronounced. They are all dressed in partial armor; they must have just come in from watch. They are all wearing Vizsla blue.

shit.

_Shit._

_SHIT._

His heart races but he forces himself still. They have no reason to bother him. He will just finish, rinse out the dirty dish, and then go back to Dimrik's room. The voices go quiet. They must have noticed him. He puts the dish down and steps back to close the door.

A hand clasps around his shoulder and spins him around, slamming him into the door.

"What are you doing here, _ge'ad_?"

The sneering woman looms right in front of his face. Anything he can say is inconsequential at this point, so why bother answering? They've already decided how this interaction is going to end.

He can try to make a run for it. He's always been fast. If he can duck past the one holding him he might be able to get away. The only problem is the two behind her blocking the exit. He could go for some of the knives on the wall but that is just going to provoke them. They are Mandalorians, it's safe to assume they are armed.

He can call for help, but Dimrik is down the hall and asleep. What are the chances he would hear? And if someone else heard, would they even care? For the first time in his life, he's facing a fight without his brothers at his back.

There's only one thing to do.

He throws his entire weight forward and crashes his forehead into the woman's nose. There's an audible crunch and a scream. Mandalorians always forget to protect their faces when they aren't helmeted.

He shoves her to the side and vaults up onto the metal island and takes off as fast as he can. He’s got a clear shot to the door.

Relief floods him for about five seconds before one of the big motherfuckers catches him by the ankle and he goes down. He doesn't have time to brace against the impact. A coppery tang fills his mouth. He kicks out desperately at the woman who has a hold of his foot but the man is dragging him by the throat off the table.

He hauls Vaughn up, and his arm is wrenched behind his back while another arm goes around his neck. He jerks and kicks, struggling to break free. The ringleader circles back and he snarls at her. She laughs and brings a knee to his gut.

The air rushes out of his lungs. He tries to fight past the desperate burning in his chest.

Something shatters behind him and the grip on him loosens.

He lunges for the woman and slams them both into the ground.

He has the upper hand now and everything in his body is screaming, _fight!_

 _Fight or die_!

He lurches on top of her and wraps his hands around her throat. She spits and curses up at him in Mando'a but he can't hear anything over the roaring in his own ears. Her nails scratch and sink into his forearms, scrambling desperately, trying anything to throw him off.

Faintly, he can hear in a warning tone "Wait, don't touch him." And then more clearly, "Vaughn. _Vaughn_! **"** He blinks. Soga is standing at a distance from them, also in her night clothes. "Let her go."

He shakes his head, trying to clear his thinking. "Yes, sir."

He releases his grip and the woman scrambles backwards until she hits the shin guard of the other woman, breathing in frantic gulps. She keeps her gaze locked on him, bloodshot eyes filled with rage.

Soga swipes her sleeve across her face to scrub away the burgundy blood that's pooled under her nose. The man is on the floor possibly unconscious or, at the very least, not getting up. The ringleader pushes herself up and meets Soga's eyes. Realization dawns across her face and she must recognize her.

Soga snarls something in Mando'a and turns to him."Let's go." She grabs a large shoulder bag off the kitchen island and pulls it over her head. He listens, anxious to get out of the woman's line of sight.

Soga waits until they put a bit of distance between themselves and the kitchen before she takes him by the arm and turns him.

She scans him up and down. He's sure he's going to get reprimanded even though he doesn't really understand what he did wrong, beyond existing.

"Are you alright?"

He nods and mumbles under his breath, "Fine."

Her eyes go over him again and she sighs. "I'm sorry, Vaughn. That shouldn't have happened."

He is quiet for a moment and then decides to ask because, just like so many things, he doesn't understand.

"Why _did_ it happen?"

"They are still angry about the siege and they can't take it out on the one responsible."

Bo-Katan, he realizes. Why he doesn't count as one of the ones responsible in Soga's mind, he doesn't know.

He doesn't want to talk about it, embarrassed that they were able to trap and overpower him like that. But he also needs to know. "What is _ge'ad_?"

Soga's eyes widened. "Almost person. That's what it means."

She pulls up outside of Dimrik's door. "Be ready to leave tomorrow afternoon after the council meeting."

He's tempted to argue. He doesn't want to be the reason they have to leave but her tone is that of a direct order and she's already marching away like she's planning on tearing the palace apart with her bare hands.

Dimrik sits up in his cot, eyes blurry with sleep when the door clicks shut behind Vaughn. His breath is coming a bit too quickly, the adrenaline still running its course. Dimrik blinks at him questioningly.

"M'lright?"

Vaughn crosses the room in a few quick strides and grabs a fistful of Dimrik's collar, hauling him up. His split lip throbs when he presses into his mouth.

He is so full. Of grief and rage and things he doesn't have words for. It all smolders under his skin and he realizes just how good it feels.

To live. To want.

Maybe it's cowardice. Maybe it is selfish to be happy that he survived when so many other good men died. But

he has paid for this second chance in blood. So he's going to take what he thought would always be denied to him, starting with Dimrik.

He's going to burn through him like fire.

Dimrik gasps as his teeth graze skin and he pulls away sharply. He places his fingertips against Vaughn's breastbone and pushes him firmly back to arms length.

His heart stings with rejection for a moment until Dimrik steps forward, forcing him back. He advances and Vaughn gives way until his heels hit the wall.

Dimrik flashes him a crooked grin before he goes to his knees. He tugs aggressively at the waist of Vaughn's pants.

"Is this what you had in mind?"

Vaughn nods, breathless.

"Yeah. Something like that."

Dimrik's grin grows even wider and he leans in to nip at the skin between his hip and works his way down until--

Vaughn's hands fist into Dimrik's hair when he takes him in, slow and languid and teasing. He moans around his cock like he's desperate for it.

Vaughn can't help it. He loses control and his hips buck up, needing more. He needs him to moan like that again.

Dimrik chokes and pulls back. His arms snap up and he braces his forearms against Vaughns hips, holding him in place. Fingers stroke over the muscles of his stomach, cool against his feverish skin, hovering just over the part of him that's aching with want.

"Be. Still."

Whatever he had planned to say gets lost in a ragged gasp as Dimrik takes him in again, this time faster, harder.

He's very close.

He struggles to form a coherent thought but he is struck by how much he needs to see Dimrik undone as much as he is now. Sometime very soon, Vaughn is going to pin him down and break him apart, slowly. He's going to explore every inch of the skin that's usually hidden under all that beskar.

"Touch yourself," he bites out. Dimrik complies, sliding a hand away from Vaughn's hip and down. He can't see, but he knows when the fingers of his other hand sink deeper into the skin over his abs. He uncurls one of the hands from his hair and reaches to lace their fingers together. Dimrik moans again and Vaughn feels it reverberate through his entire body. He throws his head back.

"Dimrik, I'm…" he does his best to warn but all he can manage is to cry out as Dimrik takes him deep, the sound of his mouth filthy and unrestrained.

He's vaguely aware that his head collides with the wall, hard. He barely feels it, completely overcome with the shivering aftershocks. He lets himself slide down the wall until he's face to face with his Mandalorian.

His eyes are drawn first to his lips which are slick and flushed red. Dimrik's chest rises and falls quickly, panting with exertion. He's fallen back on his heels, his cock painfully hard between them.

"Vaughn." It's a pleading ragged request.

Vaughn leans forward, raising to his knees and sliding over until he's bracketing him with his bent legs. He reaches out between them, brushing the underside of the leaking head with his thumb. Dimrik lets out a hiss and brings an arm around his waist to grasp at his shoulder blade.

His head falls to rest against his collarbone.

It doesn't take much, just a few strokes until he's falling apart, letting out strained little cries into Vaugh's shoulder. He can feel the warmth of his release dripping down his fingers.

Dimrik lifts his head and breathes out an exhausted sigh. He leans forward to softly nudge their foreheads together.

"Go lay down." Vaughn commands, getting up to go to the fresher. "In the bed."

Dimrik grunts in response, hauling himself up and flopping back into the bed, boneless. He throws an arm over his eyes, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

Vaughn hits the water and waits for it to warm while he searches the drawers for a cloth.

He hesitates before bringing a finger to his lips and lapping up the slick, sticky liquid coating his hand, desperately needing to sate his curiosity. He washes the rest off and wets the cloth. He pads back into the bedroom and tucks himself into Dimrik's side. He's already falling into sleep. Vaughn can tell by the way his chest rises and falls.

He plans to start with his face and work down but he gets distracted by his lips as he wipes them clean. They are lovely and full and dusky pink. He traces a nail across the line of his mouth and Dimrik snaps up, playfully biting down on the pad of his thumb without moving the arm from over his eyes. Vaughn chuckles and Dimrik shifts his arm from his eyes to peek out.

Vaughn is startled when he shoots up abruptly. He takes a hold of Vaughn's chin and turns him to look at what is probably a nasty bruise forming across his cheek and the split in his lip. For a few minutes he'd forgotten.

"What the fuck happened?"

"It's not important."

"The fuck it isn't. Who did this?"

"Some Vizslas. Soga is handling it."

"Vizslas, plural?" His tone is venomous. He shifts, eyes trained towards his armor and the weapons stashed in the rack by the door. Now it's Vaughn's turn to plant a palm on his chest and push him back.

"We are leaving tomorrow. Is that really how you want to spend the rest of the time we have?"

Dimrik's face falls. "You're leaving already?"

"Your _buir_ thinks it's best." He knows the easiest way to end this argument is to invoke Soga's name. She is the one authority Dimrik will always bend too, short of the Mand'alor. Dimrik slumps in disappointment. Vaughn leans back into the mattress. They curl up, face to face.

"When will you be back on Concordia?"

"Not till the harvest." Dimrik sweeps a gentle touch over the bruise on his cheek. "The situation here is…. I need to do what I can to help the Mand'alor."

Vaughn understands. Duty comes before everything else. Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mand'alor - sole ruler  
> buir - Parent  
> Alor - Chief  
> Su cuy'gar - hello, lit. You're still alive  
> K’olar,verd. Gar haav'burcya liser parer gotal'ur gar kaysh dalab - Come on, soldier. You're bunk-friend can wait to make you his sheath.  
> Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum - Daily remembrance of those passed on  
> Kyr'tsad - Death Watch (lit. Death Society) - breakaway Mandalorian sect  
> tiingilar - blisteringly spicy Mandalorian casserole  
> haashun - parchment bread - a thin sheet of bread dried to preserve it, and reconstituted in liquid. Mando ration-pack staple. Made properly, it;s so thin you can read through it, hence the name; 'see-bread'.  
> ge'ad - almost person (another creation of Sred) 
> 
> Dimrik's biological parents names are also Mando'a; Ca'tra and Kote meaning night sky and glory


	4. Chapter 4

Vaughn turns over and pushes his face deeper into the pillows to block out the sunlight filtering through his eyelashes. The bed is warm and unbelievably soft and he feels heavy in the way that only comes from a restful night's sleep. 

Wait? 

The sun.

_Fuck!_

He is going to be late to muster and get stuck on latrine duty again. 

No, that isn't right.

The herd is waiting for their breakfast and they will be completely obnoxious when he finally gets his boots on and goes to get their grain. 

All he knows is that he is supposed to be somewhere, doing something. He scrambles to untangle the blankets from his legs but only succeeds in dumping himself onto the floor.

He stares up at the vaulted ceiling and groans like a wounded bantha. 

Every inch of him is sore. 

He remembers now. 

Those miserable cocking Vizslas. He hopes every single member of their karking clan gets armor chaff. He rubs the back of his head and hisses when his hand hits a tender spot. 

Oh right. He remembers all of it. The fight. Soga's intervention. Coming back here. The ghost of the sensation of Dimrik's hands sliding across his skin. The wolfish grin. The heat of his mouth. 

Braining himself against the wall like an idiot.

He sits up when the door's mechanism hisses and Dimrik steps in with his helmet upside down in one hand and a steaming ceramic pitcher in the other. He frowns when he finds Vaughn on the floor but only misses a beat before joining him, pressing up against his thigh with their backs to the bed. 

Vaughn kicks the crumpled blankets aside while Dimrik pulls two cups and a bundled kitchen towel out of his helmet. He unties it and the smell of the fruit pastries inside is sweet enough to make Vaughn's teeth ache and stomach growl. 

Dimrik passes one over. "I had to run drills and I thought you could use the sleep." 

Vaughn nods and sips his tea. The liquid is golden and smells sharp and earthy. He rolls the cup between his palms, enjoying the warmth. 

Dimrik absentmindedly slides a finger under the hem of his shirt tracing along the stretch marks that line the lower plains of his back, wrapping from his spine to his hips. The silvery scars are stark against his dark skin, yet another side effect of rapid aging. He'd never paid much attention to them but now he's startlingly aware of their presence under Dimrik's touch. He shivers.

"Something on your mind?" 

Vaughn hesitates. "I was thinking...my brother I mentioned last night, Echo. I think... he might still be alive. He was separated from our battalion and was held as a POW for a while but….he wasn't on the ship. Don't get me wrong, he might have….but there's a chance..." He knows he's babbling but Dimrik is still for once, listening intently as Vaughn stumbles through his thoughts, his hand forgotten on his hip.

"If you'd like, I can reach out to some of my contacts and see if anyone has seen him but...I'm not sure how they would be able to tell if it's him." 

"Echo would be easy to spot -- he has cybernetic implants. A lot of them." 

Captain Rex had done his best to keep details of Echo's imprisonment under wraps but it was hard to keep secrets on a ship like theirs. Clones talked and even though he wondered if it had been exaggerated in the retelling, whatever the separatist had done to Echo had been truly monstrous.

It wasn't surprising; the separatist didn't view them as humans. _Ge'ad._

Dimrik brings him out of his spiraling thoughts by squeezing his thigh. "I'll see what I can do, yeah? If it was my _vod_ , I would want to know." 

He nods again. "Thank you. You're a good friend." 

The Mandalorian snorts. "I would hope after last night we are a bit more than that. That reminds me." He shoves the rest of his pastry in his mouth and scrambles up to retrieve something from his footlocker. Unlike the rest of his things, this jacket is neatly folded away at the bottom. He offers it up with an expectant look. 

"I won't need this here, with the climate control in the city. You should take it. You don't have one, right?" 

Vaughn shakes his head. He unfolds it in his lap. The leather is buttery soft and the sable fur that lines the collar tickles the back of his neck when he slides it on. "Seriously, Dimrik. Thank you." 

He leans in hesitantly and Dimrik moves forward to press his forehead against his temple. "Anything for you, _Cyar'ika_."

********

Soga was hard at work loading boxes onto the ship when they join her on the docks. She had obviously been making the most of her time planet-side after she was done attending to official business. Her helmet was off and the sweat sticks her lavender hair to her forehead, which furrows as she sees her boys darting through the crowd. 

"How was the council meeting?" Dimrik greets her. 

Soga huffs out a sigh in her most sardonic tone, "It went as well as could be expected. No one was shot."

"What a relief," He chuckles. "Anything interesting happen?" 

Soga passes a box off to him, "The Viszla's finally elected Pre's replacement." 

"Who did they choose?" 

"Does it matter?" 

"I suppose not." 

Soga meets Vaughn's eyes for a moment and seems to come to a decision. "You made her acquaintance last night." 

Dimrik looks between them, bristelling like a startled loth-cat. “ _Wayii_!"" 

She shrugs and hands a box over to Vaughn. "Finish loading up the ship." She crooks a finger at Dimrik and he follows her off to the side of the ship and they switch over to _mando'a_ again. 

Vaughn is once again astounded by the truly surreal state of Mandalorian politics and decides it's not worth asking for details. He just knows that if he never comes across the Vizsla woman and her clan again it will be too soon. 

Once the ship is loaded, Dimrik sulks out from behind the wing of the _kom'rk_ and gives him a tight smile. "I'll be in touch soon." He passes the fur of the jacket's collar between his thumb and forefinger. "Stay warm, ok." He turns back towards the city and Vaughn follows Soga up the ramp. 

She closes the hatch and goes to the dash to begin the startup sequence. Vaughn finishes tying down the remaining boxes before going up to the cockpit. In one of the unused seats, the brown shoulder bag from the night before is laying partially unclasped. He nudges it so it falls open. Stashed inside are several large industrial sized containers of spices and dried herbs. 

"What you have there is actually priceless." He jumps guiltily at the sound of Soga's voice from the seat at the helm. "It might be the only remaining stores of the last crop before The Desolation." 

The Desolation. That was the Concordian's term for the nuclear winter that had killed off all the ecosystems of Mandalore; the event that all but ended the civil war that Dimrik's _buire_ had fought on the losing side of. 

"You took them?" It's a terribly stupid question, Vaughn just never expected Soga would be one for petty thievery. He's finding she is full of surprises. 

The corner of her mouth ticks up. "Call it reparation. I never had an opportunity to pay back the duchess for leaving me and mine to die on Concordia. Clan Kyrze can stand to be parted with them and I will call it even." 

Vaughn has been so wrapped up in everything that he had forgotten this was the first time Soga had set foot on her homeworld in over twenty years. 

"How did it feel to be home?" 

Her hand pauses over the dash for a long minute and she gazes past the platform and out to the white sand dunes, remembering a landscape that no longer exists. 

"When Pre Vizsla came round to recruit for his war, he told the young ones that if they wanted to reclaim their heritage they would have to fight with him to retake Mandalore."

Her eyes narrow in disgust before she hits the switch and falls back into the rhythm of the start up. 

"This isn't _yaim_ anymore. It hasn't been in a very long time." 

Her voice is icy so Vaughn takes the cue that this conversation is over. He focuses on buckling himself into the co-pilot seat while Soga throws the throttle back and the ship lifts off smoothly. Before they break atmosphere, Vaughn looks back at the city shrinking into invisibility, blotted out in the endless sea of white. 

It strikes him that he really hates this planet. 

**************

The cold season blows into the valley over night not long after they return from Mandalore. Vaughn wakes up shivering and goes to find the windows frosted over and the world outside grey and dark. He snags Dimrik's jacket off the nail next to the door and goes to start his day. 

The thin layer of snow crunches under foot as he makes his way to the barn. He slides the door open and steps into the dim light towards the feed closet. His foot catches and he almost tumbles face first onto something half buried in the hay. Two sets of eyes stare up at him from a boxy canine skull. He freezes as half a dozen heads raise from the bed of hay and blink disinterestedly at him. 

Their unexpected presence and menacing fangs are alarming, but the eopie huddled on the opposite end of the barn seem unconcerned so he carefully sidesteps around them, keeping one eye on the creatures while inching toward the grain closet. He cautiously closes the door behind the herd and as soon as their grain is dumped into their trough and the ice that's formed over their water is broken up, he bolts for the farmhouse. 

Soga is hunched as close to the lit stove as possible, spoon in one hand and a steaming mug of caf in the other. 

She outright glares at him when he skids to a stop and announces, "There are animals in the barn." 

She stares daggers at him for what feels like eternity before realization dawns on her face. "Six legs, four eyes and cute in a hideous sorta way?" 

He bobs his head and she flicks her spoons in dismissal before going back to stirring the simmering pot. 

"That's just the strill." 

"Strill?" He repeats back. 

She hums an affirmation. "They're hunting animals. You don't see much of them in the summer because it's mating season, but when it gets cold they sleep in the barn. They're friendly." She pulls the pot off the heat and tilts her head in the direction of the cupboard. "Get the bowls down." 

He goes to do as he's told when the thought dawns on him. 

"How did they get into the locked barn?" 

Soga shrugs and takes the bowl from his hands. "They're clever beasts." 

Breakfast is _bas neral_ porridge and cured meat; it's nothing special, but it's warm and that's what counts. They don't bother to sit at the table, instead lingering in the kitchen close to the stove where it's warmest. 

"I've been thinking," She says in between bites. "Dimrik's room stays empty for the season. There's no reason for you to stay in that drafty shed." 

It's a kind offer but he doesn't want to be an inconvenience. Sometimes he wakes up shouting and even if his brothers had told him it was norma,l he doesn't want to bother Soga with that. Besides, he likes where he is. It's the first time a space has been completely his. 

"Thank you but I'd rather stay where I am."

Soga shrugs as she wipes down her bowl and reaches for his to do the same. He dries out the one she hands back and stacks them back in the cupboard. 

"Alright, well, you better pull out that old heating unit from the barn so I can fix it up first thing. You'll be no use to me if you're frozen." 

She goes off to get dressed and he trudges back to the barn. The strill seem to be just as lethargic as Soga in the cold. Some look up and huff in annoyance when he lets the wind into the warmth of their sanctuary, but for the most part they ignore him. 

He makes his way to the sectioned off corner in the back where the plows and other miscellaneous items are thrown into piles and forgotten about. He sighs. This will probably take all morning, if he's lucky. He kneels and starts digging through one of the shelves. 

There's the sound of loud sniffing behind him and he shifts on the balls of his feet to see four ears twitching back and forth. 

This strill is smaller than the others. It would only come up to his knees if he was standing and has a softness to it's features that Vaughn had come to recognize as something that was new. 

"You're just a shiny, huh?" 

The pup tilts its head to the side at the sound of his voice and an overly large tongue lolls out of its mouth. 

Well, Soga had insisted they were friendly. He extends a hand in its direction and it presses its nose into his palm. 

**************

Life falls into a quiet routine. Every morning after he feeds the Eopie and lets the strill out of the barn, Soga is waiting with his breakfast and a list of what she wants done for the day. Most of the time it’s odd jobs around the farm that she needs an extra hand with, but she also sends him on errands around the valley and sometimes to the homesteads in the mountains. Shiny follows him from task to task, leaning against his leg whenever he comes to a stop. 

Even though they never say anything, Vaughn still catches the older Mandalorians trading suspicious glances when they think he isn’t looking. They don’t trust outsiders and he suspects being a clone only adds to the misgivings. The younglings are a different story, though. They are fascinated by the novelty of a stranger. It starts with them hanging around and watching him, then joining him in the kitchen while he’s eating lunch. Finally, when their curiosity wins out, they practically hang off of him every chance they get. He doesn't mind, really. They just tend to have a lot of questions. 

"Who are you?" 

_Vaughn._

"Why are you here?" 

_To work._

"Where did you come from?" 

_Kamino._

"Why did you leave?" 

_I was a soldier._

"If you're a soldier, why aren't you wearing armor?" 

_Because I'm not fighting._

"If you're a soldier why aren't you fighting?" 

_The war's over._

"Did you win?" 

……

When this happens, Soga will cut her eyes over and bark at the children to stop being pests. This typically causes them to scatter, with one exception. The youngest member of the clan, a little twi'lek, who stares owlishly at him. He's not sure why he finds this particularly unsettling, possibly because he has no experience with nat-borns. He wonders if they are all wild, feral creatures or if that is unique to Mandalorians.

Every night after dinner he makes his way back to the shed and kicks off his boots and starts up his heater. He pulls his communicator out from its place in the desk drawer and dials in Dimrik’s comlink. 

Dimrik seems to have infinite contacts he can tap for intel to track Echo. There's a freighter captain who runs the Perlemian Trade Route transporting raw metal from mining planets to factories in the mid rim. A bartender on Lothal. A dancer on Felucia. A smuggler that deals in...well that isn't important. 

“How is it you know so many people willing to do you favors?” Vaughn asks as he splashes his face with water from the basin he had tried and failed to warm with the space heater. Dimrik gives a lackadaisical shrug over the holo. 

"We stopped off on a lot of planets. Pre didn't like staying in one place long with the New Mandalorian enforcers trying to apprehend us. Every local watering hole has someone spoiling for a fight and if they’re drunk enough a Mandalorian seems like an obvious choice. The secret is most people just want to get stuff off their chest. Once you knock their heads together and buy them a drink, they’ll spill their whole life story. If you’re willing to hang around and listen once they sober up, they are willing to do just about anything for you." 

He suspects this is something only Dimrik could manage, but what does he know? He's only ever visited clone bars and that was on the rare occasion they had shore leave. 

"All the records on troop movements have been locked down, so there’s no way to know how many of the old clone units are still in service and which ones have been retired. If he was released from service, is there anywhere in particular he might go? Maybe a planet you served on where he might know civilians? Someone special, if you know what I mean?" 

Vaughn snorts as he towels off. No, Echo was too by the book to risk getting brought up on fraternization charges. It had been a nearly constant area of consternation between Echo and Fives everytime they had R&R, until Fives made the mistake of pointing out, loudly, that General Skywalker would never do that, because General Skywalker was not a hypocrite. 

After Captain Rex chewed them out, it was never brought up again. 

So no, Echo was too buttoned up to fuck camp-chasers. At least, he had been when Vaughn knew him. "I doubt it, but I don't know what he got up to after he was rescued." 

"Hold on, I might be able to access his service record from the archived Republic network. What was his serial number?" 

Vaughn gives him Echo's designation and goes to sit on the bed, waiting for a reply. 

"That's strange." 

"What?" 

"He's listed KIA but it's dated at the beginning of the third year of the war and was never updated. You said he was a POW?" 

"He was. On Skako Minor. " Vaughn chews at his lip. Captain Rex was always fastidious with his record keeping. "Check mine." 

There's a pause. "Killed in action, dated a day after the end of the Siege." That is more in character for his captain. So why was Echo's record never updated?

"I guess I can't blame him for getting it wrong." Even as he says it he knew the bitterness in his voice contradicted him. It wasn’t the captain's fault he was left behind and there was no way he could have known that Echo had lived. 

"You actually crashed a few times after you were found. So he was technically right -- you just don't stay dead." 

It strikes Vaughn as odd that he knows that but he moves past it to focus on the bigger problem.

"So we have nothing to work from?" Without Echo's last assignment or where he went after Annexes they had no leads on where to find him beyond Dimrik’s network of pub brawlers.

"I wouldn't say that. We have a starting point. You don't think he has any reason to go back to where you were stationed, right? That narrows it down." 

There's a long pause, long enough that Vaughn can tell Dimrik is thinking hard about what he'll say next. 

"It says here you were awarded commendation for the battle of Umbara." Another pause. "I didn't realize you were on Umbara." 

Vaughn traces a finger absentmindedly across the geometric pattern on the quilt in front of him. The design is a bird with outstretched azure and emerald wings and a band of ruby around it's throat. It dawns on him that the creature it represented is now long extinct. 

"Vaughn?" Dimrik's voice cuts through his concentration. 

"Yeah, I was." 

"I've heard stories." 

He hums in acknowledgment. That isn't surprising; Republic media broadcasts reached almost all corners of the galaxy, even this far into the outer-rim. They loved a thrilling tale of their armed forces beating overwhelming odds for a victory. The gritty details didn’t much matter to them. 

Or the brothers he’d lost.

"They're probably true. I don't remember much of the details. Just that it was really dark."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ge'ad - almost human [a creation of sred]  
> Vod - sibling [not literal]  
> Cyar'ika - sweetheart  
> Wayii - no way, you're kidding  
> Buire - parents  
> yaim - home  
> bas neral - coarse grain


	5. Chapter 5

It's late on Sundari, or very early depending on how you look at it, when Vaughn's communicator chirps unexpectedly from it's place on his desk. Dimrik should have been asleep for hours at this point. Vaughn goes to answer and the holo flickers on. 

"Hey, I tracked down that weapons dealer at a bar and she said she might have a lead on Echo."

That's good news but he can't focus on that right this second. Instead his attention is pulled away by a black eye the size of a nebula across the Mandalorian's right eye. 

"What happened to your face?" 

What was this idiot doing fighting without his helmet on? His hand trails through his hair and then to the back of his neck, obvious guilty of something. 

"Oh you can see that in the holo?" 

Vaughn arches a brow. "I could see it from orbit, Dimrik." 

He waves him off. "It's not important. Hey do me a favor and tell _buir_ to call me when you get a chance. I'll talk to you later, when I follow up on that rumor but I need to get some sleep." 

The holo clicks off and he goes to grab breakfast and relay Dimrik's message to Soga before rushing out. There is a hunt planned for this afternoon. He needs to get his work finished but more than that, he wants to be out of Soga's war path once Dimrik tells her whatever avoiding saying to him. 

That plan fails spectacularly becauses she is still raging like a tatoonine dust storm in the kitchen when he comes in for lunch. 

"Sweet _manda_ , keep me from strangling that boy." Vaughn hears her mutter. The way she says it makes it sound like a mantra she's been repeating for 25 years. 

"It's your fault he's like this Ca'tra." He slides to a stop just outside the kitchen. He doesn't want to interrupt a private conversation with her ghosts. The way she talks to them they might as well be sitting across the table from where she's bludgeoning her vambrace with a spanner.

"You two left me alone with this boy who is hell bent on starting a feud with the most _chakaaryc_ clan and for what?" She sighs and there's a metallic _clang_ as she tosses the tool she had been using. Vaughn does his best to suppress a snort. 

As much as Soga would like to blame Dimrik's other parents, Vaughn thinks he is very much his mother's son.

Vaughn rounds the corner and makes his way to the sink to wash his hands; trying his best to act as if he hadn't heard anything. Soga looks up from her work and her face softens a bit. She pushes past him and pulls his lunch from the preserver and comes to press her lower back to the sink next to him.

"Dimrik said he might have news about your _ori'vod_?" 

He shrugs, meticulously focused on getting the dirt out from under his fingernails, “Maybe. It’s probably a long shot.” 

“I hope not for your sake, _Cyare_.” She avoids meeting his eye. "It is a hard thing; to be separated from family. Do you know what you’ll do once you find him?” 

Vaughn can guess at what she means. She’s trying to politely ask if she needs to start considering finding a new field hand. If he plans on leaving with Echo. 

In truth, he hadn’t really considered that far. Making plans was a luxury for people who planned to live to see a future. Who had the freedom of choice. Two things he didn't have much practice with. More than anything else he had only allowed himself to plan up to the point where he would see Echo again. He has so many questions.Echo was smart, one of the greatest tactical minds of the GAR. He might have details about what happened after the siege or why the Jedi were eradicated. 

If nothing else he was the only brother he had left. He owed it to Echo for everything his brother had done for him. He cleared his throat. 

"No, not yet." 

Soga nods before pushing away from the sink and retrieving her vambrace. She turns toward the great room. 

"Hurry up and eat." 

The sound of voices carry back towards the kitchen as the others begin to arrive. Vaughn scarfs down the sandwich in three bites and follows after the chieftain. The room is roaring with the drone of excited chatter as clan members mill about, checking equipment and armor. Some of the smallest younglings are weaving back and forth around the carved wooden support beams that hold up the ceiling. 

The second they spot Vaughn crossing the threshold they swarm him, throwing arms around his shins and relentlessly clinging to him like Sullustan burs. He shuffles across the floor, dragging them behind while they all talk at once. Once he settles in a warm corner close to the fireplace they scatter leaving only his shadow, the little blue twi'lek. She leaned in close to his face; eyes wide with concern, head tilting so that her lekku flipped over her shoulder. "Where is your armor?" 

"I don't have beskar like everyone else." 

"No” she insists, “I meant **your** armor." 

His eyes narrow in suspicion "How do you know about my armor?" 

He hadn't pulled his kit out from under his bed since he's been here and only brought his blaster because he didn't want to ask to borrow one. Mandalorians were notoriously touchy about their weapons, after all. 

She ignores him and yells, loudly right next to his ear, at her father across the room. “Buir!” 

A Mirialan and Twi'lek both raise their heads from where they had been talking with Soga and the others. The man has a peaked nose and full cheeks that are devoid of the traditional tattoos Vaughn had seen other Mirialans wear. He assumes that means that like Dimrik, he was raised here among the exiles. The woman on the other hand, wears the traditional headscarf and her accent is different. The couple trade a look before the man trots over. 

“What is it Mir’ika?” he asks in a fond tone. 

“He doesn’t have any armor, _buir_. What if something tries to eat him.”

He spares Vaughn a glance before insisting “I’m sure he knows how to handle himself.” 

Vaughn opens his mouth to agree, but she cuts him off. 

“What if something sneaks up on him?"

The girl's father crouches down and raises an eyebrow at her. 

“Would that make you feel better if I went with him to watch his back?” she nods and the man turns to him again. 

“Would you mind some company?” The girl looks back to him waiting for a reply. He nods because he doesn’t know how else to end this conversation. Assuaged by his compliance she runs off to find the other youngling. Her father watches her go and shrugs, pushing himself off the floor. He offers Vaughn his hand and pulls him up. 

“I’m Essam, by the way." 

“Vaughn.” 

Soga finishes strapping down her shin guard and lifts her head. Vaughn would say she looks younger, almost girlish with excitement except there is something wild in her expression. Her eyes are bright and her smile is sharp before she hides it behind her helmet. 

"Let's go hunting, _vode!_ " 

************

The strill are waiting for them at the place where the settlement meets the forest. They circle and pace, coiled muscle rippling under short fur. They know, somehow. When they see the hunters approaching the pack becomes frenzied, yipping and stirring up the powdery fresh snow. They bolt into the cover of the trees, the hunters sprinting after them. 

The only one left at the mouth of the trail is Shiny, tail kicking up snow as he waits for Vaughn and Essam to bring up the rear. 

"Don't you want to go with them?" Vaughn asks. The pup cocks his head before trotting forward and looking back, waiting impatiently for them. 

_Well alright then_. 

They trudge up the trail, the sound of the hunting party fading until the only sound left is the crunch of their boots in the snow and the sound of Shiny chasing birds up ahead. 

Soga had explained to him the strill are capable of flushing prey off of the steeps where it's hard for hunters to access. One group of Mandalorians summit the hills with their jetpacks and track the creatures through the trees. They communicate with the others through their helmets internal com system who follow behind the strill and wait for them to chase whatever they find. Then the mandalorians go to work boxing in their prey. It's not all that much different from a recon mission, searching for straggling droids planetside. Only without the exception of small talk. 

"Isn't it more tactically advantageous to keep quiet so that the prey doesn't know we are coming?" 

His companion shrugs, "Maybe, but it's not nearly as much fun." 

Vaughn isn't sure fun has to do with it but what does he know. He's not a captain here, so he doesn't get to have an opinion. He turns his collar up against the chill and marches on. 

"Are you a good shot, Vaughn?" Essam's visor scans the trees as he speaks. 

"Best in my batch." He’d always been rather proud of that fact. 

"I don't know what that means. Here." He offers up his spare blaster and snags his own out of his hand. "This mass produced piece of _osik_ won't do you any good out here." 

He turns the new weapon over in his hand. It is obviously well made, sleeker in design than his. There is a roughly etched sigil on each side of the gripe, the cat that symbolizes Eldar and another he isn't familiar with. He checks the safety and holsters it. 

"So the twi'lek child, she is your...foundling?" 

"Miruur? Yes I met her and her mother Lira when I was on Ryloth." 

"You were with Death Watch with Dimrik back then?" 

His helmet tilted ever so slightly and there was a pause. 

"Let's just say my association with Death Watch ended shortly before that." 

They walk for a while before stopping for water, leaning against a half fallen tree. The Mandalorian tilted his helmet back to sip from his canteen before offering some to Vaughn who tipped it back and instantly regretted it when the caustic burn of some kind of alcohol hit the back of his throat. Essam chuckled as Vaughn tried to catch his breath. 

"Sorry, didn't think to warn you. It has a bite but it helps with the cold." 

Vaughn wipes his mouth on the back of his gloves and shakes his head like it will help chase away the taste. His curiosity finally gets the better of him as he passes the bottle back. 

"I didn't realize you could leave death watch."

The mandalorian takes a slow sip and caps the bottle before pulling up his pants leg just enough to show the cybernetic prosthetic underneath. Vaughn averts his eyes awkwardly. There were some clones who had prosthetics but only commanders or other high ranking offices. Those who had strategic importance to the war effort and it was a topic that was tactfully avoided. Other clones with injuries too severe to rejoin the fighting where shuffled to maintenance and support staff. 

Deficiency must be avoided at all costs. To be less than whole meant you were not useful to the Republic and that was the gravest sin for a clone.

Vaughn draws his jacket tighter around him trying to mask his awkwardness. If Essam noticed he didn't indicate, continuing his story.

"Lost it in a shootout. Pre sent a group from our clan plantside to deal with some traders. Between you and me, I think Pre tried to short change their credits. They didn't like that much, so they shot up our camp. My cousins managed to fight them off but I got caught in the crossfire."

He returns the flask to his pocket and brings his helmet back down over his face. 

"It's just as well that Dimrik left me behind. I have no doubt Pre would have put a bolt through my head to keep me from becoming a liability." 

Even with the modulation of the helmet Vaughn can hear his disgust. Essam walks ahead, scanning the surrounding trees. 

Vaughn's fingers spasm suddenly and he almost loses his grip on his blaster. He holsters it and pulls his glove off and kneads his knuckles into his palm to work out the tension. It must be a result of the cold making him stiff. His head shoots up when the braying call of the strill comes through the trees to his right. He curses as he tries to yank his glove back on with his teeth and pull his blaster with the other hand. 

"Come on!" Essam shouts already well ahead of him on the path. Vaughn tracks the sound, the pack is pushing whatever they found closer towards them. 

A streak of brown erupts from the trees, knocking snow from the branches. The creature isn't terribly large in comparison to some of the fauna he's encountered on his deployments but it isn't exactly small either. The strill aren't far behind, snapping at it's legs. 

Vaughn levels his blaster and tracks his shot. He exhales and pulls the trigger in one smooth movement and his prey drops. The strill slid and scrambled across the packed snow, circling back toward the carcass hungrily. Essam finally doubles back, whistling to get the pack's attention, the sound a bizarre high pitched buzz through his helmet’s modulator. They break off and mill around close by waiting for praise. Shiny reappears in his place by Vaughns thigh and he unconsciously reaches down to scratch the top of his head and the strill twists back and forth to assure that Vaughn hits behind all four ears. 

The telltale hiss and thump of jetpacks come from behind him and Soga claps him on the back. "Nice shot." 

They don't have the luxury of a hoover cart so Essam and Vaughn will have to drag the kill home. They opt to head back towards his family's cabin, which is not far off from the beskar mine. It’s much closer than hauling it all the way back down the valley and Vaughn is desperate to dethaw his sore frozen fingers. They hang the meat to drain and hurry inside. 

The family's cabin is bigger than his shed but not by much. It's much more cluttered with the evidence of the family's life tightly fit between the four stone walls. There's a wire rack just like the one in Dimrik's room next to the door where Essam stacks his armor. Above it, several forging tools are hung for easy retrieval on the wall. The mandalorian goes to the back of the house and crouches in front of the stove, feeding wood into the iron stove that heats the house. The door bangs open and Miruur runs in with her mother following behind her. She unclips her modified visor from where it attaches to her headscarf and places it in the rack alongside Essams. 

He tucks the empty wood box under his arm while Lira busies herself taking leftover soup from the ice box to reheat. As he squeezes past her to the door she absentmindedly leans her head to the side and he nudges his own to her temple. Vaughn goes to sit by the fire and watches this interaction from the corner of his eye while pretending to stare at the fire. 

It doesn’t take long for the soup to come to a boil. Lira fills a bowl and hands it off to Miruur. She slowly and carefully carries it over, both hands clasped around the lip, eyes locked on the contents to make sure it didn't slosh over the sides, socked feet padding across the wood floor. She offers it up to Vaughn and he takes it from the bottom, the heat making his fingers burn and tingle as the blood rushes through them again. 

" _Vor entye_ , Miruur." He smiles and she rolls her eyes at him. 

"We don't say _vor entye_ for food, we say _gedeteyar."_

Lira slides gracefully into the floor opposite them and hands her daughter her portion. The light from the fire highlights the yellow of her skin. It reminds Vaughn of sunshine, which is contradicted by the solemness of her demeanor. 

"Leave him alone, Miruur. He's trying and you are being rude." The little twi'lek huffs. 

"It's ok, she's a good teacher." All the best teachers were a bit mean, right? 

Lira stares over the lip of her bowl at him but says nothing. He's familiar with the expression so he isn't surprised by what comes next. 

"Did you serve on Ryloth at all?

"No ma'am, I was too young to serve during that campaign. But my battalion was on Ryloth." 

"Which one?" 

Vaughn puffs his chest a bit, straightening up "The 501st, general Skywalker's division." He had always been proud to be part of the 501st, ever since General Skywalker had recruited him as a sniper on Echo's recommendation. Every clone thought their battalion was the best, all boasted their tactical strengths and praised the generals and padawans they served under. Vaughn knew the 501st was the best battalion. Not just because they were effective but because General Skywalker cared deeply for his clones. He and Commander Tano were incredibly kind. Not all battalions could say that. He knew that his brothers were proud to have liberated Ryloth from the seperatist. 

"You were a freedom fighter?" 

He catches her mid sip but she nods. She's watching from the corner of her eye as Miruur sloppily dragged her haashun bread through the remaining broth at the bottom of her bowl. 

"May i ask why you left?" After all the heartache of trying to free your homeworld, why abandon it. Why choose to live among people that weren't your own, if you had another choice. She tilts her head and looks at him through narrowed eyes. She keeps looking at him even as she speaks to the little one. 

"Miruur, go tell _buir_ to hurry inside." Miruur scrambles up and shoves her boots on before slamming the door behind her. The quiet she leaves behind is heavy. 

"How much do you know about what happened when the republic pulled their troops from Ryloth?" 

He swallowed nervously. "Not much, ma'am." 

She leans closer, arm resting on her knee. 

"Let me enlighten you. After the Republic peacekeepers left, the slavers took it as an opportunity to move in. The republic didn’t care because it didn’t have anything to do with the war effort. Do you know what a young twi’lek female costs on the slave market?” 

Vaughn froze, pinned under her gaze. She continues without an answer. “Essam offered us a place where she is protected, unlike so many others the republic abandoned.” 

Thankfully he's freed from the conversation when Miruur bursts back through the door with Essam coming up behind her. He shucks off his outwear and goes to pour himself a bowl from the pot on the stove. 

Vaughn keeps his head down. 

"The soup is very good." 

He flees the cabin as the sun begins to set. Everything is cast in purples and blues and white as he picks his way down the mountain path. Once he's finally inside he peels off his gloves and blows into his hands. He has a lot to tell Dimrik, about the hunt and more importantly his conversation with Lira. If he turns up dead in the creek, at least Dimrik will know who was responsible. 

But first he needs to confirm a suspicion. He flicks on the lamp and goes down to his stomach and presses his cheek to the floor boards next to the bed. 

His rucksack is there, almost exactly as he left it. 

Almost 

The knot is what gives it away. He always used a slip knot. You never knew when you might need access to your kit in a hurry but it also needed to be secure for long marches. A lifetime of military discipline made Vaughn a creature of habit. Even if the bag had been replaced carefully, the knot was obviously made by someone who barely knew how to lace their boots. 

*********************

The benefit of having a routine is that it made Vaughn predictable. So predictable that everyone knows at this point during the week he went up to the wood pile behind silo on the furthest end of the settlement and stayed there for a few hours, chopping firewood for the rest of the week. 

He exited the farmhouse as usual and made his way across the compound, one eye trained toward the porch where some of the younglings were playing in the snow. As soon as he was out of sight, he doubled back, sneaking behind the barn and waiting. 

Sure enough, a small band of kids covertly broke off from the other children and made their way toward the shack. All being led by the obvious mastermind, Miruur. He watched as the tallest boy jimmed open the window and gave the others a hand crawling through before following in.

Those little mud scuffers.

He sprints across the field and hits the door. As usual, the wood sticks letting out a sharp creaking groan. 

A loud crash and several shrieks come from inside the room, followed by the obvious sound of retreat. 

Vaughn throws his shoulder into the door again and it finally gives way. The room is empty except his armor scattered on the floor and a pair of legs retreating through the window. He grabs an ankle and yanks.

The little twi'lek yelps as he dangles her out in front of his face at arms length just like he had when they had caught that sniffling in the barracks. The little pest had tried to bite him then and he wasn't convinced she wouldn't try the same. She wiggles angrily back and forth attempting to get loose. 

"Let me go!" 

"Fine." He acts like he's going to drop her on the head and she screams before he catches her again. 

"What were you doing with my armor?" He demands. 

"We were just looking!" 

"It's not yours to look at!" 

She gives up struggling once it becomes obvious it won’t work. Instead she crosses her arms across her chest and glares defiantly back at him, even as her tunic falls into her face. "Are you going to tell _ba'alor?_ " 

He hesitates. Even if he wasn't happy they were rifling through his things, he didn't want to be responsible for getting them punished. 

It might be annoying but he doesn't want them to get hurt over something small. 

Besides, it didn't seem like they had broken anything. Soga didn't need to know. 

"Will you stop breaking into my shack?" 

She hesitates for a moment before shrugging. "Sure." 

He strides over to the bed and dumps her out onto the mattress not far from where they had abandoned his helmet. 

He expects her to make a dash for the door the second he lets her go but instead she just tumbles upright and drags the helmet into her lap, oblivious of the conversation they had just had. 

"What are these?" She points at the white markings across the face of the bucket. 

"My commander was a togruta. Those are her markings." 

_Were her markings,_ he reminds himself. The foundling lifts the helmet up to face level and lets herself fall backwards on the mattress, turning the armor back and forth in front of her nose, curiously. 

"You must think she's really pretty." 

He leans into the wall and pinches the bridge of his nose. Why is every conversation he has with this child so strange?

"She left for a while and when she came back we wanted to show her how much we missed her." 

"She was your friend?" 

He hesitates, looking at the helmet. Ashoka would often spend downtime in the barracks with them, playing sabbac or watching holos. They all called her _lil'un_ , a nickname she earned from Rex when she had first become a padawan. It had spread through the ranks and stuck even though by the time Vaughn had joined the battalion she was a seasoned warrior and no longer the child she had been. The war had taken that from her. But in the time she spent with them she could still be _lil’un_ for a while. 

"Yeah, we were friends." 

"What was she like?" Her eyes were bright with excitement. 

“She was brave and kind and loyal. Everything a jedi should be." 

The Twi'lek shook her head. "You're wrong." 

He blinked at her. “What?” 

“You’re wrong.” she repeats emphatically.

"About which part?" 

"She couldn't be a Jedi, you must have got that part wrong." 

"Why do you say that?" 

She motioned with her hand, almost like she was saying something painfully obvious. "You said she was kind and good. So she must've been something else. The Jedi were bad. Monsters who hurt people." 

Vaughn's brow furrowed. "Who told you that?"

"Ba'alor. And buir. And mama too." 

He shook his head. "They are wrong. I knew lots of Jedi and none of them were like that." 

"Then why did they kill _ba'alor's_ _riduur?"_

“What?” 

She really rolls her eyes and sits up, exacerbated by the fact that he seems to know nothing. 

“ _Ba’alor’s riduur_. _Ba’vodu_ Dimirk’s _buir_. A jedi killed him.” 

She hops off the bed, deciding the conversation is over now that she has proven her point. Vaughn stares after her, completely at a loss. 

*******************

As the days get shorter and the snow piles higher, it gets more difficult to get any work done outside but the most bare necessities. Instead they hole up in the farmhouse working on catching up all the small upkeep that they don't have time for in the busy summer months. Soga has a large basket full of clothes that need to be mended. 

Clothes, like everything else on Concordia are hard to come by. Traders don't come to the moon often because until recently the official stance of the Mandalorian government was that the exiles had died out, leaving no one to trade with. 

With that came an unspoken threat; there would be consequences to providing aid to the Concordians, who didn't exist. 

There were some merchants who had soft enough hearts to ignore Mandalore, for a price. 

As a result, every piece of clothing had to be mended, darned, altered and passed down among the tribe. Not a scrap could afford to be wasted. 

"Can I help?" He asked her one night, when she started growling more and more aggressively at what was apparently a stubborn tear in one of the younglings pants legs. She throws them at him in disgust. "Do your worst, _Cyare._ I'm tired of looking at them."

Even if he stabs his finger and constantly has to start over, he likes it. He's even good at it, after some practice. 

It's similar to the routine of cleaning his blaster. The motion is a fluid back and forth. It's easy to get lost in the rhythm and narrow down his focus to the texture of the fabric between his fingers and the pull of the needle and thread. He even manages to take some of the scrap that is too small for anything else and piece together some of the animals he remembers from his tours to give the _ade._

Once she realizes he has a proclivity for it Soga volunteers him to help other members in the tribe with their alterations. They trade small things as thanks. A bit of fresh cheese, replacing the soles of his boots which have starter to wear thin, an old spare chair he can put outside his door so he can sit out on his porch when the weather finally turns for the better. 

He's easy to please because he needs little and has never had anything that was truly his. Sometimes they will stick around to chat. He's happy for the company but he's most comfortable when it's just him and Soga passing the time in companionable quiet, close to the fire pit.

One day when he comes in from the barn there is a small brown package sitting on the dinner table next to a new basket of clothing that needs work. 

He ignores it until Soga points it out. 

"A carrier came with that earlier." She jerks her chin in it's direction. "It's for you." 

He turns it over in his hand. It must be from Dimrik. Why he would bother to spend the credits to ship something, Vaughn doesn't know. It seemed impractical, given that he would be home in a few months.

He pulls the paper away to reveal a small wooden box. He flips the lid open. Inside is a set of needles and a dozen small brightly colored spools of thread. 

"What is it?" Soga leans over his shoulder, feigning innocence badly. 

Vaughn can't answer. Before he can second guess himself he bumps his head to hers the way he's seen others in the tribe. 

She blinks in surprise and for a moment he is horrified at the prospect that he might have crossed some line that he wasn't aware of. Maybe he misunderstood the gesture. He opens his mouth to say something, to apologize but he's frozen in embarrassment. 

She rises up on her toes to return the gesture. When she pulls back she pats his cheek affectionately. Soga's smile is very different from her son's. It's just a small twist of her lips and a crease by her eyes. "Come on. We're burning daylight." She turns on her heel and goes about her business. 

He sets the heel of his hand to his chest to rub away the tightness beneath his sternum before going back to work.

*********

The scream that came from the porch of the farmhouse makes Vaughn drop the shovel he was using and run, absolutely certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that someone was seriously hurt. When he skids to a stop he finds Miruur and Essam on the porch, the little one sobbing uncontrollably. 

Between hiccuping Vaughn hears Shiny, who has been mysteriously absent most of the day, and something about not wanting to play with her. 

Essam kneels in front of her and Vaughn felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up in inexplicable dread. 

He takes her hands in his. "Did you pull his tail again?" 

"No.” she sniffled. 

The girl's father sighed as he swept a thumb across her cheek and gave her a sympathetic smile. "What if i play with you?" 

She stamped a foot and shouted "No!" throwing herself against her father's shoulder, crying even harder. 

Essam looked up and saw Vaughn staring, he shrugged and mouthed "tired" as he passed his hand comfortingly across her lekku. 

The feeling of dread leaked away, replaced by hollowness 

******

_"I didn't even hit him that hard!"_

He doesn't remember who it was now after all this time, just the feeling of getting slammed into the ground and his wrist crunching underneath his weight. Four sets of identical eyes darted around when he screamed, looking to see if any of the trainers had heard. 

When tears started to spill down his cheeks Echo came running from across the training area. His brother was only a few months older than him but he was almost a head taller and starting to have the gangly look of a young teenager instead of a child. The one who hit him, maybe it had been Jayk pulled him up by the arm roughly, "I didn't hit him that hard." He repeated in a defensive growl and tried to pull his wrist out of his hand. "stop crying." 

Vaughn snarled at the instigator through his tears and lurched for him before Echo grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him out of the training room and down the sterile white hallway. The cadets were fairly sure this section didn't have cameras but they couldn't be sure and anyone could walk by. 

"Vaughn stop." He was trying to be the voice of reason as usual but there's an edge under the calm tone he's using. 

Vaughn was trying but his wrist hurt and once the tears started he couldn't get them to stop. Why couldn't he stop? He gasped and clutched his wrist. Echo shook him desperate to snap him out of it. "Shut up! they are going to see. They're going to lock you up for observation. They'll think you're…" 

The dreaded word went unsaid like speaking it would make it true. 

_Defective_

The cold grip of fear made the tears come harder. 

The sound of soft measured voices carried from somewhere nearby. The cadence marked them as Kaminoans. The older boy panicked and pushed him further down the hall. His hand went over his mouth and nose trying to keep him quiet as he pressed them into the wall with his full weight. Vaughn clawed at his hand, already out of breath but his brother's entire focus was centered on the hallway, eyes full of panic. He didn't notice that his little brother's grip was getting weaker. 

Vaughn woke up gasping, his lungs burning with the memory of being deprived of air. He vaulted up and headed for the door, snatching the communicator on his way out. 

"Hey!" Dimrik's voice was carefree and light when he answered. There's loud conversation in the background "It's late there." 

Vaughn hadn't thought this through, he'd just been desperate for….something. 

"Yeah." 

There's silence for a moment before Dimrik says "hold on." There's movement and the sound of lighthearted jeering before the sound is cut out and it's just Dimrik's breath. Vaughn can picture him walking down the empty platforms that line Sundari after dark. 

"Everything alright?" 

Vaughn swallowed "yeah." 

"You want to talk about it?" 

"Not really." He can't bring himself to tell Dimrik about the memory turned nightmare.He knows Echo loved him. That he did what was necessary to protect him from himself but he's certain Dimrik wouldn't understand. How could he? Vaughn saw how the adults here were with the younglings. Dimrik must have grown up just like that. Loved and Cherished and Protected. How could he possibly comprehend the choices his brothers had to make. 

In a different world….no that was a pointless way to think. They were made to serve. There's no reality where he and Echo or any of them had that. Echo was hard because he had to be. Vaughn should be grateful otherwise he wouldn't have been strong enough to survive. 

Even so the memory left behind felt like a jagged scar, especially after seeing the tenderness Essam had with his little one.

Dimrik hummed in answer. "How are the stars tonight?" 

Vaughn rolled his eyes. What a ridiculous question. He looked up anyway. "The same as they are every night." 

"Well, seeing as i can't see them here, you'll just have to look for me." 

He looks toward the planet looming on the horizon. If he squints he almost thinks he can see the city. 

"Do you miss Concordia?" 

"Always. Do you miss Kamino?" 

The question catches him off guard so he doesn't have time to think

"Never."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chakaaryc -  
> rotten, low-life, - generic adjective to describe an undesirable person of dubious ethics  
> ori'vod - older sibling  
> Cyare - beloved  
> buir - parent  
> Vode - Siblings but more broadly friends, peers  
> osik - shit  
> vor entye - Thank you  
> gedeteyar - be thankful  
> haashun - flat bread  
> ba'alor - chief grandma (created from ba'buir and alor)  
> riduur - Spouse  
> ba'vodu - uncle/aunt

**Author's Note:**

> Manokar: the *right stuff*, the epitome of Mando virtue - a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty and a lust for life  
> Buir: Parent  
> Resol'nare: six acts of Mandalorian life, aka the creed  
> Mando'a: Mandalorian language  
> Alor: chief  
> bas neral: coarse grain used for animal fodder and brewing; thought unfit to eat
> 
> Come hang out on discord-  
> https://discord.gg/4ZQHj84


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